


Occam's Razor

by Lenore



Category: Smallville
Genre: Altered Mental States, Challenge Response, Dubious Consent, Future Fic, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occam's Razor

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://slodwick.livejournal.com/profile)[**slodwick**](http://slodwick.livejournal.com/)'s [Worst Case Scenario challenge](http://www.livejournal.com/users/slodwick/499015.html). My prompt: [(My Survival Handbook Challenge assignment)](http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a11/worstcase/080.jpg)

The place didn't have the usual signs if it was one of Lex's secret labs, no titanium walls or magnetically sealed doors, no defeated plume of chartreuse smoke rising into the sky after some unfortunate miscalculation. It was hard to imagine it as a vacation retreat either, even if it was in a quiet, sun-kissed part of Jamaica, not with its dilapidated porch and dangling, dry-rotted shingles. Truth be told, the word "shack" came to mind, no matter how hard Clark squinted at it, trying to see something more.

He couldn't imagine what Lex was doing there, but then that _was_ why Clark had come looking for him. Lex hadn't exactly been himself lately.

"He had his office redecorated with red velvet drapes and satin cushions," one of Lex's worried executives had confided in Superman two days ago.

They'd sent a message through the _Planet_ , begging for a meeting. Clark had gone out of morbid curiosity.

"Plus, he's been writing out huge checks to someone called 'Miss Cleo'," another chimed in.

"Not to mention that case of buckthorn bark, whatever that is, that he ordered off the Internet," the third said.

When Clark started to ask the hard questions, though, when he wanted to know what might have caused this odd behavior, the minions were far less eager to cooperate, staring down at the floor, muttering something about stress. It took threatening to fly off, leaving them to deal with the mess themselves, to finally get them to admit the possibility of "a slight industrial accident."

Clark's impulse had been to do nothing. Whatever had happened to Lex, it was his own fault, and he could damn well get himself out of trouble for once. Who knew? Maybe he might actually learn something, and Clark felt fairly sanguine that a bunch of twigs and some gaudy throw pillows couldn't come to much grief. If he was wrong about that…well, hey, at least it wasn't Kryptonite-powered radio-controlled toy cars again. That had single-handedly ruined Christmas three years ago.

It was only a frantic message from the MetU Biology department that made him reconsider his decision. There had been a break-in during the night, and the only thing taken was one of the samples he'd given them to study, a single strand of hair. "We found traces of some kind of herb in the storage locker, if that helps at all," the very apologetic department head had told him.

Lex's problem, it seemed, was now Clark's problem, as well.

It had taken a day to get a fix on Lex's location. An order for ceremonial candles, mandrake root and a case of extremely expensive wine had finally tipped him off. He swept the building with his x-ray vision. There was only one person inside—Lex—Clark would know his skeleton anywhere, a fact that alarmed him if he thought about it too much. He couldn't make out any defense systems, and he didn't have that seasick feeling he always got whenever there was Kryptonite nearby.

There really didn't seem any reason why he couldn't just open the door and walk inside.

As he stepped across the threshold, a clatter erupted seemingly out of nowhere, things raining down on him. He flailed, trying to knock whatever it was away, shooting beams of fire to repel the assault. He saw the writing just a second too late, right before it went up in flames—Pinto Beans—and then a blackened can thumped to the floor, along with several others. Candied Yams. Sliced Beets. Peaches in Heavy Syrup. He'd been attacked, it appeared, by generic canned goods.

Oh, and cowbells. Clark let out a sigh as he unstrung those from his shoulders. For once, he found himself actually missing Lex's high-tech gadgetry, the motion sensors and precision lasers. Being waylaid by empty baby pea tins had a much higher humiliation factor.

At the sound of his homemade alarm, Lex popped his head around the corner. If he was the least bit surprised to see Superman, there was no hint of it. "Oh, there you are. I was hoping you'd get here before the rice overcooked." He waved his hand, beckoning Clark to join him. "Sorry about those cans. Miss Cleo was kind enough to lend me this place for the weekend. But as you see, it's rather on the rustic side. I'm afraid that's what passes for a doorbell."

Clark narrowed his eyes at Lex, trying to figure out if this was some new brand of trick, but Lex's smile seemed perfectly sincere for once. In fact, he didn't look much like his usual self, at all. Gone were the jacket, tie and glowing green ring. His pants were rolled up at the cuff, as if he'd been out beach combing earlier in the day. His gauzy cotton shirt was casually unbuttoned at the top, untucked from the waistband, and he'd kicked off his shoes to keep from tracking sand inside. Clark had never actually seen his naked feet before, not in all the years they'd known each other, and it was strangely disturbing.

Only a starfish-shaped bruise on the side of his head gave any hint of whatever had happened back in Metropolis, still a violent purple-blue after three days, which with Lex's powers of healing led Clark to believe it had been more than a _slight_ industrial accident.

In the kitchen, Lex invited Clark to sit down. A large pot simmered on the stove, giving off a delicious scent. "Callaloo Voodoo," Lex explained. "A local favorite. I hope you like it."

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you think you're doing, Luth—" But it was hard to go through the Superman routine when Lex looked so…unLuthorlike. "What's going on?"

Lex looked rather puzzled by the question. "I'm cooking you dinner." And then he smiled. "I know what you need after your trip." He took up an open bottle of Cabernet and poured a glass for Clark.

Clark was actually starting to worry about him. "Do you remember anything exploding in the last couple of days? Any sharp blows to the head? Any—" He frowned. "Is that a dried chicken's foot over there on the counter?"

Lex moved a tea towel to cover it. "Miss Cleo. She is a colorful character." He clapped his hands together. "Now, you'd probably like to change into something more comfortable before dinner." His eyes traveled up Clark's body. "Not that I don't appreciate what you have on, of course."

Clark's cheeks flared with heat. "Uh—are you feeling okay?"

"Never better." He made a shooing motion. "I've got clothes laid out in the bedroom. It's right through there." When Clark didn't budge, he added, "You know, Superman, you really do need to learn to relax."

Clark bristled, ready to fire back about pots and kettles, but then he really had to ask himself what he hoped to accomplish arguing with a severely head-injured person. Besides, Lex was in such a chipper mood, humming under his breath as he stirred his stew, that he really didn't have the heart to bring up the way things usually were. He figured the best thing he could do was play along, keep an eye on Lex until the mental fog cleared. They could get back to the business of being archenemies when Lex was feeling better.

In the bedroom, he found a pair of khaki pants and a white shirt waiting for him. No shoes, so he went bare foot like Lex. When he came back, Lex smiled. "That's better, isn't it?" And nodded toward the table. "Let's eat."

The stew was delicious, spicy and thick with crab and okra and greens.

"I didn't know you could cook," Clark said.

Lex just shrugged and smiled. "Call it a hobby."

It had occurred to Clark to wonder what they'd talk about. These days their conversations consistently mainly of snarled insults and promised revenge, punctuated with emphatic shakes of the fist. But Lex played the host with easy charm, talking lightly of the weather and the wildlife on the island, giving Clark a mini discourse on the nesting habits of the native birds. There were moments when Clark could almost forget the last, disastrous decade and imagine he was back at the mansion in Smallville, a kid again, listening to Lex talk, amazed that anyone could know so much.

After two big servings of voodoo, Clark pushed his chair back from the table, hand resting on his belly. "That was delicious. Thank you."

"There's still some left. Have another bowl," Lex insisted, getting up to fetch it, refilling their wine glasses.

By the time dinner was over, Clark had caught himself a time or two wishing that Lex's concussion might never get entirely better.

"Why don't we go sit out on the porch?" Lex suggested as he cleared away their dishes. "There's a wonderful view of the ocean, and we can have our brandy there."

Clark started to say that probably wasn't a very good idea because...but then he really couldn't think of a reason. So he nodded and carried the glasses outside for Lex.

"It's more comfortable than it looks," Lex said, nodding toward an old, broken-down glider.

"I'm sure it's fine," Clark said, settling into a corner of it.

Lex handed him his brandy and then sat down next to him, surprisingly close, their legs touching. Lex smelled good. He always did. There would be times when they were faced off against each other, Lex with a Kyptonite canon aimed at his chest, and his scent would waft over on the wind, distinct and familiar, reminding Clark of things long past. That always infuriated him, but now, here...it was just...nice.

Lex stared out at the waves, sighed contentedly, and let his hand settle on Clark's thigh.

Clark cleared his throat. "Um, are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"You asked me that before." Lex tilted his head. "How are _you_ feeling?"

"I'm...kind of warm, actually." Clark took a nervous sip of his brandy, which was no help at all.

Lex smiled, and it was a mystery as usual. "Good. Drink up. That's fifteen-year-old brandy. We shouldn't let it go to waste."

He squeezed Clark's leg, his knuckles mere molecules from Clark's crotch.

Clark blurted out, "Why are you doing this, Lex?"

"It's just nice having you here." Lex frowned. "Aren't you glad to be here?"

Clark swallowed hard. And nodded.

Lex held his gaze. "Good." He leaned closer, his lips almost, but not quite, touching Clark's cheek as he whispered, "Have some more brandy. You'll be even gladder."

It all made sense then, the weird bark and those glasses of wine Lex had pressed on him at dinner and the three big bowls of stew.

"What did you put in it?" Clark asked, as Lex filled his glass up to the top.

Lex shook his head. "Nothing to hurt you."

He raised his drink in a toast, and Clark chinked glasses him, like an idiot. His entire relationship with Lex, pretty much from the day they'd met, had been one big game of chicken, and there was no stopping it now. Lex smiled at him encouragingly, and Clark drained his glass, just to show Lex that he'd do it.

Lex moved his hand in slow circles on Clark's thigh. "Now how do you feel?"

Clark looked down at Lex's hand and then up at his mouth, his lips moist, softly parted. "Kind of dizzy."

"Mmm." He nestled closer. "Do you want to kiss me?"

Lex's light eyes bored into him, and Clark couldn't look away, didn't even _want_ to.

"Yes," he admitted, with surprising ease.

"Good."

He put a hand to Clark's cheek and kissed him, just a soft little tease, but _Lex's_ lips, his taste, the warmth of his body. Clark cupped the back of his head in one palm, pressed him against the cushions and took control, so suddenly, ferociously hungry he couldn't imagine ever being filled up again. For the first time in years, the clench he always had in his chest whenever he thought of Lex eased, as if all that rage had just been an acute case of sublimation.

"Miss Cleo was right," Lex murmured. "Buckthorn bark is the key."

Clark lifted his head. "To what?"

Lex smiled dreamily at him, eyes clouded with concussed delusion. "Making a love charm that works."

"Is that why you took my hair?"

Lex nodded, kissing Clark's neck. "It doesn't work without something that belongs to the person you want to attract."

It doesn't work period, Clark wanted to tell him, and even if it did, it would hardly be necessary. But Lex was obviously in no frame of mind to listen to reason. "How much did you pay Miss Cleo for this miracle spell?"

Lex ran his hand very deliberately up Clark's back. "Do you want me?"

Clark could feel the sweat on his neck, running down his back, and there just didn't seem any point in lying. His body would only give him away if he tried.

"I want you."

 _And I always have_. But there were still a few things it seemed wise to keep to himself.

Lex smiled. "Then Miss Cleo was a bargain. Believe me."

He looked so dazed and beautiful, and Clark suddenly understood. He was going to have sex with him, here, now. Knowing that made his palms sticky. Made him smile wryly as he lightly touched the bruise on Lex's thin, pale skin. "How badly did you hit your head, anyway?"

Lex shrugged, with a smile. "Hard enough to understand what I've been doing wrong all this time. Making things complicated, when it could be so simple."

Clark closed his eyes and kissed him. "It's not going to seem that way when your head clears."

Lex tightened his grip on his shoulders. "Maybe not, Clark, but it seems that way now."

Clark went absolutely still, his heart thudding against his ribs. He stared into Lex's eyes, more open than he'd ever seen them. And God. He could see it now. Lex knew, _everything_ , maybe he always had, and he'd never used that knowledge. Never went after Clark's family or his friends, never gave away his secret or tried to blackmail him with it, never came after him when he was just plain, old workaday Clark. All his enmity, now that Clark was thinking about it, had always been directed at Superman. And the thing about that was...Superman wasn't even real.

Maybe Lex was right, after all. Maybe this was far simpler than they'd imagined.

Clark pushed himself up from the glider, and Lex's expression shuttered close until Clark held out his hand. "Come on. You don't have your usual security here. Who knows who's hiding in the bushes with a camera."

Lex just blinked for a second, then moved nimbly to his feet and took Clark's hand. "Good thinking."

In the bedroom, things Clark had apparently wanted to say, and never even realized it, just came tumbling out of him. _I want to see you naked_ as he untangled Lex from his shirt. _I've missed you_ as he pressed his face into the curve of Lex's neck.

"I want you to suck me, Clark," Lex told him, as if he too had been waiting a long time to say it.

It was certainly not the first time Clark had considered how things might have been different if he'd met Lex later, after he'd answered some of the important questions for himself: who am I and what am I made of and what do I want. But in the quiet of that simple room—the only sounds his mouth on Lex, the sharp intake of Lex's breath, his soft moans—it seemed especially poignant. Being afraid of what you were could twist you, hurtfully. Being afraid you'd never get what you really wanted could slowly drive you to desperation.

When Lex came in his mouth, it made so much more sense than fighting him ever had.

Afterwards, he eased Lex down onto the bed and stood over him, stroking his cock as he admired the way he looked there, loose-limbed and satisfied. "I'm going to fuck you," he said, because once you started telling the truth you really didn't want to stop.

Lex smiled softly and opened his legs. When Clark climbed on top of him, it felt exactly like coming home.

* * *

It was much later when they finally slept, and much later after that when Clark woke the first time. Lex called out a drowsy protest when he slipped out of bed. Clark pressed a kiss to the top of his head and told him, "I just want to make sure you don't bolt when you come to your senses."

His task took only a moment, and his spot next to Lex was still warm when he slid back between the covers. Lex returned to his former position, head on Clark's chest, drooling on him to make a point. Clark folded his arms around him and promised, "I'm not going anywhere."

When Clark woke again, it was mid-morning, and he opened his eyes to the tune of a dozen tin cans clattering to the floor. He whisked off to the front door, just in time to grab Lex by the elbow before he could dart through it.

Lex turned, eyes flashing as he wrenched his arm away. "Get your fucking hands off me."

Clark held them up in a show of good faith. "Whatever you say."

This did nothing to mollify Lex, of course. "How _dare_ you? Last night—I was—but you—" He glared. "You _knew_ what you were doing."

Clark shrugged. "What can I say? You're irresistible. Maybe that love charm worked after all."

Lex pinched his mouth into a thin, displeased line. "First, you take advantage of me, then you mock me. How very noble of you." He poked a finger into Clark's chest. "I might have been a bit—addled in my thinking, but that's still no excuse—"

"Actually, I thought you made a lot of sense."

Lex opened his mouth and closed it again. The curve of his head was a brilliant red, a sure sign of fury, but he made a visible effort to control himself, taking a breath, letting it out. "What exactly did you expect to accomplish with this?"

Clark smiled gently. "What do you think?"

Lex gave him a hard look. "If this is some kind of tactic, emotional extortion, that's really beneath you—"

Clark cut him off, "You don't really believe that. The simplest explanation is usually the right one, remember? I learned that from you."

The hard line of Lex's mouth softened, just a little. "I might need more convincing than that."

Clark nodded. "Okay. So here's the thing. I'd like to spend more time kissing you and less time corralling malicious, glowing green toys. I'd like it if there were no more 'industrial accidents', and the only marks I ever saw on you were the ones I gave you in bed. And more than anything, I'd like to go back in time and make things different. But since the AI really frowns on that kind of thing, then I'd like it if we could just forgive each other already and start over. Because being your enemy seriously sucks."

By the time he finished, Clark was a little out of breath.

Lex didn't say anything immediately, just gave him a long, assessing look. "It wouldn't be easy, you realize."

Clark shrugged. "Maybe not. But it has to be simpler than this." His fingers hovered over the bruise on Lex's head.

"You could have a point there," Lex admitted.

"So," Clark eased a little closer, "you think we can work something out?"

"I hope so," Lex said, with such unexpected honesty it made Clark ache.

He wrapped his arms around him and held on like he should have done a long time ago. "Good."

"There are a few things I have to take care of first," Lex said.

Clark let out a sigh. He should have known it wasn't going to be _that_ simple. "Okay. Anything I can help with?"

Lex shook his head. "I don't think so. Redecorating my office, preferably without red velvet or satin. Not really your strong suit. Sending back an unused case of bloodroot. I can have my shipping department take care of that."

Clark grinned. "What about Miss Cleo? She has been indicted in twelve states and the District of Columbia for fraud, you know. I could probably help you get your money back."

"No, Clark," Lex said with a kiss. "I appreciate the offer, but from the look of things, I'd say I got just what I paid for."


End file.
